


the nights (they last forever)

by Pidonyx



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Canon-Typical Violence, Getting Together, M/M, THE KILLJOYS ARE NOT MCR, anyways vampire x werewolf dynamic come get y’all juice, anyways! i really wanted to have this out for halloween, instead of doing an ovw fic this is what i wrote and it got long for no reason, this is MAD dumb sorry., ummmmm Jet and Kobra ARE in this just like. not a lot WHOOPS SORRYYY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx
Summary: Party Poison loves Full Moons.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 39





	the nights (they last forever)

**Author's Note:**

> i am. ok so this wasn’t supposed to be stressful but i imposed halloween as the deadline for getting this out so im not entirely sure this is good. either way happy halloween 2020 i hope you guys all have a safe and fun holiday! here’s a halloween-y fic for you all!!
> 
> just for clarification, the venom sibs are vampires, ghoul is a werewolf, and jet is an eidolon <3 i am an enigma even to myself
> 
> title is from baby you’re a haunted house by gerard way, i won’t be fielding questions at this time 😌

Party Poison loves Full Moons. He’s well aware that that’s a selfish thing, since Ghoul is, at best, neutral about the Change, and at worst, he hates it.

It’s just that it feels special —  _is_ special — when Ghoul the wolf spends the entire night letting Poison play with him and pet him and bury his face in his fur. Ghoul comes hunting with him, too, on Full Moons, and it becomes more about the thrill of running through the desert, breathless, with the milky swell of the moon overhead, lighting up the sand in silvery white. On those nights, Poison doesn’t even have to hunt for himself — Ghoul will vanish from his side, and then reappear with a hare or mouse or something clamped in his jaws, and Poison will coo at him and scratch behind his ears until his tail thumps against the sand, and Ghoul will lie down at his back while Poison feeds, like a warm, solid wall, muzzle resting on Poison’s thigh.

The crew is nocturnal — like a lot of crews in the Zones — since two of them are vamps anyways, and that means that on Full Moons, Poison gets to spend the entire night with a very cuddly wolf that, in theory, no one blinks an eye at him lavishing affection on. It’s the best. Even when Kobra gives him a look, sometimes, raising his eyebrows when he finds Poison lying half on top of Ghoul, arms around his neck. Poison kind of doesn’t care. “‘S just ridiculous,” Kobra will say, without needing to clarify, and Poison will fail to dignify that with an answer and go back to stroking Ghoul’s head where it’s propped on his front paws.

Poison is aware it’s dumb, and that he’s made his pathetic crush incredibly obvious to everyone except for Ghoul, so it would probably do him well to stop advertising it the way he does, like an infatuated thirteen-year-old. Poison can’t find it in himself to stop, though, not when Ghoul will crawl into his bed at the first creeping light of dawn and lick his cheek and curl up against his side while Poison falls asleep, like he’s protecting him. ( _God_ , so pathetic.) If Poison’s really,  _really_ lucky, he’ll wake up to find Ghoul still there, black hair across the pillow, sprawled on top of the covers, and he can pretend that Ghoul belongs there, in Poison’s room, with him.

“Why don’t you jus’  tell him, P?” Kobra says, every time the issue comes up, Poison with his feet tucked up on a stool and sipping from a hot mug of water to warm his hands, make it feel like there’s living blood in his veins.

“‘S not that easy,” Poison wails. “We’re friends, he doesn’t like me like that. An’, an’ what ‘f he has someone else, there’s so many other weres in the Zones, he doesn’t need  _me_.” And that’s what it comes down to. Ghoul is a pretty wolf and an even prettier person, and Poison can’t see a situation in which he would pick a pallid, chilly vampire who was a territorial asshole to him when they first met when there are plenty of his own kind, with beating hearts and warm blood, that he could choose from instead. Vampires and werewolves tend not to mix; too much instinct to protect their own. Poison had snapped as much when Kobra first came back to the Diner with Ghoul trailing behind him, snarling that they didn’t need a  _were_ on their turf. They’re beyond that, now, Ghoul firmly a member of their crew and one of Poison’s best friends, but still.

“Since when has Ghoul held that against you?” Kobra asks, raising his own mug to his mouth. His is full of coffee, Poison can smell it from across the counter even without his vampire senses. Poison rolls his eyes. He hadn’t even said that last bit out loud. “An’ when would he have had time t’ go off an’ pick up another were? ‘Sides, you don’ know that he doesn’t like you, you won’ even ask.”

Poison kicks the base of the counter hard. “I just.” He bites his lip, feeling the edge of his fang digging into the skin. “I really like ‘m, Kobes. I want — ‘f he doesn’t — “ he scowls into the steam rising from his mug, knowing that if he had the blood to do so, he would be flushed entirely red.

Kobra’s mouth twitches into a grin, eyes lighting up behind the sunglasses he wears even though it’s nighttime. “He doesn’t.” Poison tightens his fingers around the handle of his cup.

“Shut up,” he mutters. “Doesn’t mean he’d pick me.”

“Mm.” Kobra gives him a smug look. “Yeah, okay.”

Speak of the devil, Ghoul appears in the doorway to the kitchen, yawning. If you didn’t know where to look for it, it would be easy to miss the sharp, almost delicate points of his incisors and canines, but Poison does, and it makes his useless heart do a stupid little flip in his chest. “G’morning, Ghoulie,” he says instead of giving voice to that particular idiotic thought.

The corner of Ghoul’s lips tilt up in a tired smile, and he shuffles around Kobra to get his own mug, already reaching for the coffee. “Mornin’, Pois,” he replies, voice scratchy. It’s their little inside joke, one that makes Kobra complain about it not being morning because if it was they’d all be asleep, and just because “good evening” doesn’t  sound right, Ghoul, doesn’t mean it isn’t correct. It makes Poison feel warm and bubbly inside like he’s just fed or something, so he brings his mug back to his lips to give himself something to do, even as Kobra predictably rolls his eyes.

“You’re up early,” Poison remarks. Ghoul gives him a little sly smile that makes his stomach twist into knots, and he looks down at the countertop again.

“So’re you,” Ghoul replies, amused, stirring his coffee with the wrong end of a spoon. Poison can hear the metal scraping against the ceramic. “Dunno. Couldn’t sleep.” Poison glances up just in time to see him stick the spoon handle in his mouth to suck the coffee off and that  _really_ makes him feel almost feverishly glad that he hasn’t had any blood since the night before. Kobra makes a face at him from behind Ghoul, the kind with a tightness around the mouth that says  _for the love of God, please DON’T_. Poison sticks his tongue out at him.

“Whatcha up to t’day, Ghoul?” Kobra says instead, pouring himself  another mug of coffee, Destroya, Poison needs to subtly switch it out with tea soon or they’re going to have an overly caffeinated vampire to deal with for the rest of the night. Ghoul smiles at him over his shoulder, having started digging in one of the cabinets for a can of Power Pup.

“‘Am’s got a busted belt, ‘m gonna be workin’ on that for a bit. Might need t’ go to th’ market later. But th’ car isn’t goin’ anywhere without a replacement, so tha’s first priority.” He finds the can, pulling it open by the tab and sticking his spoon in before grabbing his mug again. “Be in th’ shed ‘f you need me.”

He bumps Poison’s shoulder with his affectionately on his way out and Poison beams at his back, even though Ghoul’s already gone.

Kobra sighs. “So stupid.”

*

“There’s something wrong with you,” Kobra says, firmly, peering over the top of his glasses at Poison. He looks slightly green. 

Poison pretends like he hasn’t heard him and feeds Ghoul another spoonful of Power Pup.

“You are not seriously going to put that back in your mouth,” adds Jet.

“We’re sharing,” Poison says, and scoops the spoon back into the can before eating his bite. Ghoul yips in agreement, swishing his tail back and forth against the floor.

“What the fuck,” Jet whispers. His outline flickers muddy green-blue for a second before it goes back to purple.

“We share all the time when he isn’t a wolf,” Poison says, and lets Ghoul lick another scoop off the spoon.

“Tha’s because — “ Kobra sighs. “I dunno how t’ phrase this so you’ll get it ‘cause clearly th’ idea hasn’t crossed your mind but wolves have fuckin’, like...bacteria an’ shit. That you’re puttin’ in your  _mouth_.”

“He’s not a wolf most of th’ time. You don’ have germs, d’you Ghoulie?” Ghoul pants happily and shoves his head under Poison’s arm. Poison abandons the can and spoon for a second to scratch behind his ears with both hands and make kissy noises. When he looks up Kobra looks queasy for an entirely different reason.

“Not really how it works, P,” Jet says. His spectral hands are on his hips, star-scattered brows drawn together in what is probably meant to be an expression of ‘I’m your best friend and I’m concerned about your health’ but is actually much closer to ‘I’m going to throw up, I might have to leave the room’.

Poison rolls his eyes. “Wha’ev’r,” he mumbles around a fresh mouthful of Power Pup. Jet groans and presses their palms into their eye sockets. Whether that actually does anything to relieve a headache that may or may not logistically exist is up for debate, but it’s probably more the principle of the gesture, Poison figures.

“Close your mouth when you chew,” Kobra mutters. Poison takes an extra large bite and makes sure to chew it in Kobra’s direction. Kobra rolls his eyes, grabbing for Jet’s arm to drag them out of the kitchen, Jet startling and just managing to go solid enough for the gesture to work as planned before Kobra’s hand wraps around his elbow.

Ghoul whines at the lack of attention, wriggling and pressing his nose into the side of Poison’s neck. Poison indulges himself for a second and kisses the top of Ghoul’s head, where the short fur is glossy and warm. Ghoul’s tail thumps on the floor, and he licks Poison’s ear.  _I love you,_ Poison thinks, quietly desperate. “Want more Power Pup, Ghoulie?” he says out loud.

Ghoul’s excited squirm is enough of an answer, so Poison scoops out another spoonful, trying not to smile too widely when Ghoul half-crawls into his lap to reach the spoon, claws scrabbling on the floor until his warm weight is heavy on Poison’s legs.

*

The next evening is one of the rare, lucky ones. Poison blinks open his eyes in the pitch black room a little unsure of what time it is — the blackout curtains are still pulled over the windows, but it’s probably about sunset, maybe a little later, given the fatigue still tugging loosely at his limbs. His heart does its customary little squeeze when he sees the curve of a moon-pale torso, arm tucked under the pillow, raven hair snaking over the fabric. There’s a strand of hair falling across Ghoul’s face, and Poison’s fingers itch to tuck it behind his ear, but he doesn’t want to wake Ghoul up, or do something like that when Ghoul’s asleep,  _naked_ , in his bed.

He settles for watching Ghoul’s shoulders rise and fall against the ripples of the covers, breath gently blowing the hair out of his eyes before it falls back into place again. Poison can feel his warmth even across the bed, several inches away, though it’s probably because he has none of his own. He tries not to lean into it. It’s a little bit of a hopeless cause.

Poison can hear Ghoul’s heart beating under his skin, too, carrying blood through his veins. It’s sweet in his lungs and he can practically taste it on his tongue again, like fresh fruit juice. He’d never have taken it without permission — the one and only time was during a firefight gone Costa Rica, with Poison’s accelerated vamp healing struggling to close over a raygun blast in his chest when it was a hopeless cause; he hadn’t hunted since the previous night, didn’t have the blood in his system to heal such a bad wound. Ghoul hadn’t even hesitated, opening a vein on his wrist with his own teeth and pressing it against Poison’s mouth. He’d saved Poison’s life with the same reckless selflessness that characterizes everything he does, and Poison’s blurry vision had cleared to a curtain of dark hair brushing against his cheek and brown eyes, wide with concern, inches from his own.

How was Poison not supposed to fall in love after that?

Ghoul shifts, making a little noise, and Poison freezes. Only when he settles again does Poison release the unnecessary breath he’s been holding. It’s kind of torture, this arrangement they have. And even so, Poison lets it happen, encourages every touch and moment he can, because it’s the closest he can get to what he really wants. And Ghoul has to know, doesn’t he, after all this time, what it is Poison really wants.

_Mate_ _._ He feels silly and stupid even thinking the word, curled up next to Ghoul in bed but still separated by crucial inches of space. It’s not  for him, Poison knows that. Knows it’s a — a were thing, and he can’t have it because Ghoul gets to decide and he wouldn’t ever pick a vampire to be that important person in his life. And that’s why on early evenings like this, Poison kind of...pretends. Even though it’s creepy. That’s what Kobra would have to say about it if he knew:  _ creepy. _

_Good morning,_ Poison thinks to himself anyways, tucking carefully into the blanket. In his mind, Ghoul opens his eyes and they’re soft and pretty just for him, and he  smiles with his sharp little teeth and maybe reaches out under the blanket to hold Poison’s hand. And imaginary-Poison’s smile goes giddy, because who’s wouldn’t, when  _Ghoul_ is smiling like that at them, when imaginary-Ghoul scoots across the mattress to kiss his cheek.

Poison opens his eyes again and sees the distance between them and swallows against the thick feeling in his throat, pressing lukewarm fingertips to the spot where Ghoul would maybe kiss him, if they were like that. The shape of his fang under his cheek shakes him out of it.  _Not for you._ He can’t close the distance. Ghoul is too important to lose for some silly fantasy.

Poison rolls over to his other side, squeezing his eyes shut and, eventually, falling back to sleep.

Ghoul is gone when he wakes up again.

*

When Ghoul comes bounding back over the dune with a rangy brown hare dangling between his teeth, Poison is a little surprised.

“Thanks,” he says softly, ruffling the fur on the back of Ghoul’s neck, as soon as Ghoul’s trotted over, proudly displaying his prize with his tail curved like a feathery pennant over his back. He nudges the rabbit into Poison’s hand, pressing the damp tip of his nose into the curve of his palm until Poison takes it, the taut form quickly cooling under his fingertips.

Poison sits, cross-legged, in the sand, and Ghoul crowds up next to him, curling around his legs while Poison carefully parts the coarse fur on the jackrabbit’s throat until he finds a thick vein to bite into. He tucks in quietly, feeling a little embarrassed about the blood that trickles from the corner of his mouth when he pulls away, even though Ghoul’s seen him eat hundreds of times, helps him hunt for food once a month.

Poison swipes hastily at the drip, probably only succeeding in smearing lurid red across his cheek, and ducks his head. “Um. Thank you, Ghoulie. I kind of. Uh, I didn’t know you would still help me t’night. I thought maybe you were mad ‘t me, I dunno why.”

Ghoul makes a  _whuff_ sound, ears angling sideways, and crawls into Poison’s lap, nosing the jackrabbit corpse out of the way. Poison laughs, a little unsure. “‘S okay, Ghoul. ‘S fine.”

Ghoul whines, a sad little sound, and starts licking all over Poison’s face and neck until Poison’s laughing for real, fingers buried in his fur, with his cheek up against his ruff. “Okay! Okay, sorry I was bein’ stupid, I know you’re not mad ‘t me, okay?”

That gets Ghoul to let up, though he licks the back of Poison’s hand when he gets to his feet, and stays close on the run back to the Diner, coat brushing against the side of Poison’s jeans as they cross the Zones back home.

He doesn’t leave when they get back, either, instead bringing over one of the toys Poison bought for him on a whim on their crew’s last trip through a market, and laying down next to Poison on the grimy floor to chew on the thick rope while Poison flips open the battered book he’s been reading. He reads out loud, because Ghoul’s in the room and he always does that on Full Moons, and he can feel the vibrations from Ghoul’s tail thumping softly against the tile.

Ghoul curls closer than usual at dawn, when Poison’s pulled the blackout curtains and laid down on the mattress. Poison doesn’t let himself think too much into it, deciding to instead take advantage while he can and wrap his arms around Ghoul’s neck while he falls asleep.

*

The morning before the next full moon, Ghoul appears in the doorway of his room, shifting from foot to foot like he’s uncomfortable. Poison looks over at him, from where he’s standing by the curtained window. “Um. Hey?”

Ghoul’s mouth tilts up at the corner, like he can’t help it, and a little bit of the tension drops from his shoulders. “Hey. Uh. This ‘s um.” He pauses, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face. “‘S stupid. Do — would ‘t be okay ‘f I slept ‘n here t’day?”

Poison’s heart does a flip. He bites the inside of his lip so he doesn’t smile like a lunatic, even though he drank only a few hours ago so he’s pretty sure his cheeks have gone a blotchy pink. “Yeah. ‘F course, you’re always welcome with me.”

“Thanks,” Ghoul says softly, and shuffles over to the bed, lying down on his usual side. Poison hesitates for a moment before lying down across from him. He’s a little nervous — human Ghoul hasn’t ever been in his room, in his bed, and also awake, and for a second an awkward silence hovers.

“Are you okay?” Poison asks quietly. Ghoul tucks his knees up a little further on the mattress.

He sighs, and it sounds alarmingly wobbly, and then he reaches out a hand in Poison’s direction. Poison brings his own up to clasp their fingers together, squeezing tight. Ghoul’s hand is warm. “I just,” he says under his breath. “I hate it, Pois. I don’ like....don’ like not having control. Like,” he looks up to meet Poison’s eyes, and Poison has to steel himself so he doesn’t do something stupid. “‘S me, an’ I remember everything, but ‘m, y’know, subject t’ th’ instincts ‘f an animal an’ I don’t — I don’ think like a person anymore.” He makes a frustrated sound that’s close to a growl, and Poison gets a momentary glimpse of the sharp points of his teeth in the dark. Then Ghoul deflates, and that’s even worse to see.

“‘M tired, Party. I don’ want t’ do this anymore.”

Poison squeezes his fingers again, trying to think of what to say. “‘M sorry,” he manages finally. “That I don’ know how t’ help.” And he is, he really is; he would do just about anything to make Ghoul happy, protect him from all of the shit the world has to throw at them. He would kill and die to see his smile, and they want to touch his face right now, sweep away the tears he can see forming even without their night vision, sparkling in the thin strips of light coming in under the door. But he can’t, so instead he says, “But you can always come t’ me, an’ I promise I’ll try.”

Ghoul sniffles, and then suddenly slides over the bed to wrap him in a tight hug. Poison has to squash down the little voice inside his head that triumphantly starts chanting “ _mate!_ ”  and try to focus on hugging back and not on how warm and sweet-smelling Ghoul is, or how well their bodies fit together.  _Friend,_ he reminds himself sharply.  _Be a good friend. That’s what he wants._

Ghoul gives him a watery smile when he pulls away, and Poison doesn’t try to stop himself from beaming back, not even worrying about all of his teeth being visible like he usually would. Ghoul settles back against the pillow, though he’s not as far away as he was before. “Y’ should smile like that more often,” he mumbles, eyelids drooping. “Looks nice. Your fangs ‘re pretty.”

Before Poison can even process that statement, Ghoul leans up and brushes a kiss against his jaw, right where Ghoul-as-a-wolf always licks his cheek before settling into bed, and Poison’s face explodes with heat even as Ghoul flops back down and is immediately asleep.

Poison presses the back of his hand against his cheek, the chill prominent against the blood pooling there, heart doing acrobatics behind his ribs. It can’t possibly mean what he wants it to mean.  _What the fuck._

*

When Poison wakes up the next evening, the wolf is already there, curled in a ball, tail tucked over his nose, so it looks like he isn’t going to get to talk to Ghoul about it until tomorrow. Just as well, anyways, because it makes Poison feel dizzy thinking about it.

He scratches behind Ghoul’s ears and the wolf pushes up into his hand and makes a happy rumbling sound and everything feels normal. It stays that way, even if Ghoul maybe hangs closer than usual when they leave together to hunt.

It’s when they’re just cresting a moon-silver dune that Ghoul goes still, ears pricking forwards, and stands like a jet-black statue looking into the distance. Poison freezes, too — his vampire senses are good, but Ghoul’s actual animal senses are better. He can’t hear anything or smell anything, but Ghoul stays frozen, and, slowly, the hair on the back of his neck rises.

“Ghoul,” Poison says softly. One of his ears twitches in acknowledgement, but he still doesn’t move, and then he lets out a soft growl.Poison reaches for his raygun, knowing that he won’t find it and cursing his hubris; it’s been a long while since they as a crew have encountered Dracs and evidently he’s gotten overconfident. He’s going to have to just cross his fingers and hope that as a vampire and werewolf they’ll be able to overpower the patrol.

Poison crouches next to Ghoul in the sand, winding one hand in the bristling fur of his ruff to ground himself. He can hear the patrol now, eerily silent except for the soft  _shhk_ of boots in sand, and if he concentrates hard, he can pick out about six different sets of footfalls. Good — that isn’t too bad.

When the Draculoids actually come into view over the top of the dune, Poison realizes he’s overestimated their chances. The patrol is headed by an exterminator in white-and-black leather, dead eyes hidden behind a mechanical visor, platinum hair curling against the back of their neck.

He’s surprised when Ghoul snarls, sharp, a sound that Poison has never heard him make before. The ‘Crow laughs coldly. “Killjoys — Nonhuman Lethality Scale levels 7 and 4. Stand down.”

Poison doesn’t dignify that with a response, baring his fangs instead and hoping that the exterminator doesn’t notice his distinct lack of a physical weapon. Ghoul’s side is pressed up against his thigh, so Poison can feel it when he snarls again, with a razorblade curl to the end. The ‘Crow tilts its head to the side — it might be smirking behind the visor — and makes a gesture that Poison, unfortunately, recognizes.

When the Dracs move in to attack, Ghoul finally moves. He lashes out with teeth and claws, and takes out one of the Dracs with a violent ripping sound and a spurt of blood from the drone’s chest cavity. Poison ducks under the arm of another one and snaps its neck with an elbow to the base of its skull. He’s stronger and faster than the Dracs, but he’s lacking his gun, and he finds himself having to watch himself more than usual, struggling to get close to the other three due to having to dodge laser pulses without being able to return fire. He does, eventually, slip through, getting one of the last remaining ones in a headlock and sinking his fangs into its neck. The blood is stale and tasteless but it’s what he needed, and he drains the husk dry, shoving down the pang of guilt.  _Not a person anymore_ _,_ he reminds himself. He can hear Ghoul ripping through the remaining Draculoids, but hovers a bit too long over the one he drained, until the exterminator grabs him by the hair and shoves the muzzle of their plain white raygun into his temple.

“Alright,” they snarl. “That’s enough.”

Poison is able to lift his head just enough to see Ghoul with his ears pressed flat back against his skull, teeth bared, pink with blood. His eyes are darker than Poison’s ever seen them, and if he ever were going to be afraid of Ghoul, this would be the moment. He isn’t though — Ghoul is entirely focused on the exterminator holding a gun to his head.

“If you leave now,” the exterminator hisses. “I will let your friend live.” Ghoul takes a step forwards, and they jam the raygun barrel further into Poison’s skull. Poison hisses at the pressure, not daring to try and writhe away. Ghoul stiffens, ears still pinned back, and lets out a soft whimper.

“Ghoulie,” Poison whispers. “Go back home, ‘s fine, I can handle ‘t.”

Ghoul’s tail swishes back and forth, the only movement in his otherwise completely-still form. Then he growls, low in his throat, and that’s the only warning Poison gets before he’s launching forwards. The exterminator makes a confused, angry sound that’s half a scream, the raygun goes off, and they let go of Poison’s hair, but even as he stumbles away, bracing for the burst of pain, none comes, and Ghoul yelps.

Poison looks around to see Ghoul favoring his front leg, tongue flicking out to clean the blood off his muzzle. The exterminator is slumped, motionless, and even holding his paw off the ground, Ghoul’s tail wags when Poison hurries to drop to his knees, nosing against the side of his face. He licks gently at a scratch on Poison’s jaw, only whining a little bit when Poison’s fingers brush over the laser burn on his shoulder, dripping dark red into the black fur around it. Poison draws a shaky breath and buries his nose in Ghoul’s ruff. “Ghoul.”

At the sound of his name, Ghoul whuffs happily against his ear, shoving the wet tip of his nose into the space under Poison’s chin. Poison can’t help but laugh, even if it’s a little wobbly, and he scratches behind Ghoul’s ear with one hand as he gets to his feet. “I’ll yell ‘t you later. C’mon, let’s go home.”

*

The run back is slower than usual, with Ghoul limping from his injury, but they get back to the Diner with time to spare before the sun rises again, and Jet tsks at the blood matting Ghoul’s fur to his leg and shoulder. He wipes it up, but admits he can’t really do anything until Ghoul changes back. “Too much hair in th’ way,” they say. “Sorry, Ghoul.” They ruffle the fur on the top of Ghoul’s head, smiling when Ghoul pants cheerfully at them, even while he’s holding his foreleg off the ground, tucked against his chest.

Only when Poison’s lying in his bed, sheets shoved down around his legs, staring into the dark that he lets himself feel really scared. It had all happened so fast, from the patrol showing up to Ghoul limping alongside him back to the Diner, that it’s only just hitting him how much danger both of them had been in. He grips the fitted sheet in his fist, feeling a few cold drops slide across the lukewarm skin of his cheek.

Across from him, there’s a shuffling sound, anda sound of joints popping, bones shifting, and Ghoul’s voice whispers, “ _Ow,_ fuck.”

Poison draws a sharp breath. “Ghoulie.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, then Ghoul answers, sounding slightly resigned. “Hey, Pois.”

“Ghoulie,” Poison says again, and the fear in his veins is starting to twist and warp into something that feels a lot like anger. “Don’t do shit like that. What the fuck.”

“Hey,” Ghoul’s voice sounds a little pissed now. “I was just — “ he huffs. “I couldn’t jus’ let them take you, what did you want me t’ do?”

“I don’t know,” Poison says, hurt in the icy points of each word. “I coulda handled it, I didn’t want you t’ get  _hurt_ for _me_!”

Ghoul growls. “Well maybe _I_ wanted to. I —“ he makes a soft sound, and Poison’s reminded of the wolf, the gentle noise he’d made when Poison had hidden his face in his fur. His heart squeezes. Ghoul’s facial features swim out of the darkness. “I couldn’t let them hurt you,” he says, and even though his voice is soft, it’s fierce, hand fumbling for Poison’s and gripping tight.

Poison tries to speak, but finds himself speechless, lips slightly parted, and Ghoul’s so close he can feel his breath against his skin. His stomach starts tying itself into one of the complicated knots from Cherri’s battered old book, the one with  _Boy Scouts Guidebook_ and a faded insignia printed on the cover.

Ghoul’s eyes flicker down to Poison’s mouth, lashes fanning over his cheekbones, and he licks his lips. “Can I — “

Poison cuts him off, gently pressing their mouths together. Ghoul sighs, relaxing boneless against him, and hesitantly slides a hand over Poison’s shoulder, settling against his neck. Poison shivers at the unexpected warmth, pressing closer. The kiss is quickly moving from a chaste closed-mouth touch of lips to heated, and though Poison tries to cover his fangs at first, Ghoul doesn’t seem to have any such misgivings, biting down gently on Poison’s lower lip and tilting his head. Poison pulls back for a second, finding Ghoul’s eyes in the dark. A bead of blood is welling on his lower lip, where one of Poison’s teeth caught on it, and Poison catches his breath when Ghoul wipes it away with his thumb. 

“Ghoulie. ‘S...this —“ he gestures at his mouth, pulling his lips back to flash his fangs for a second “— okay? I don’ wanna hurt you, you gotta tell me ‘f you need me t’ be more careful.”

Ghoul sighs, mixing with a laugh. “Poison. ‘S fine. Wouldn’t’ve kissed you ‘f I didn’t want everything you have t’ offer, okay? Besides.” The thin stripe of fluorescents coming in from around the doorframe reflects in his eyes for a moment, flashing greenish-white, and he grins with his sharp teeth on display. “I think I can handle a little blood.”

Poison bumps their foreheads together, huffing, though his mouth is curving into a smile. “Fine. So you may ‘ve noticed ‘m kind of in love with you.”

Ghoul snorts softly. “Yeah. Me too.”

The blood he drank earlier rushes to Poison’s cheeks, and he swats at Ghoul’s shoulder. He withdraws quickly when Ghoul hisses painfully, remembering his injury.

“Shit. ‘M messing this up already.” He’s only half-joking, but Ghoul snickers and slumps into him, gently kissing the crescent-moon bite scar on the side of his neck.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll jus’ get Jet ‘n here.” Poison nods and makes to get to his feet, but Ghoul catches his hand again.

“Hey, so. Us?” He looks weirdly shy, smiling with half his mouth. There isn’t a decision to make, Poison leans in to kiss him again, though it’s made difficult but the fact that he’s smiling harder than he ever has before.

“Yeah,” he says, breathless, when he pulls away. “Um. ‘F you’ll have me.”

Ghoul reaches up with both hands to cradle his face in his hands, expression going softer than Poison’s ever had the chance to see it before. “I love you. So. I’d like that.”

“Oh,” Poison whispers, blinking a few times. Then his mouth starts pulling into the really stupid grin that Kobra likes to make fun of him for. “I love you, too. Um. A lot.”

Ghoul giggles, helplessly, drawing his thumb across Poison’s cheek, and then smiles up at him, and  fuck , if Ghoul’s going to keep smiling at him like that Poison doesn’t know how long he’s going to be able to keep breathing, undeath be damned.

“So, uh,” he says, eloquently. “‘M gonna, um. Go get Star t’ look at your shoulder.”

“Okay,” Ghoul says, and kisses him again, so when Poison stumbles out into the hall to call for Jet, he can’t keep the silly smile off his face.

*

“Baby,” Poison whispers. “Starlight.”

“Mngh,” Ghoul replies.

“Ghoulie,” Poison tries again. Ghoul cracks an eye open, and he counts that as a victory. “‘S almost evening, th’ moon’s rising soon.”

“ _Fuck_ _,_ ” Ghoul says emphatically, and rolls over to press his face into one of their pillows. “No.”

Poison hopes if he just keeps talking it’ll eventually get him to start talking in more than single syllables. “I jus’ wanted t’ talk t’ you ‘bout what’s gonna happen.”

“Why,” comes Ghoul’s reply from the pillow, though it’s lost any edge it had, softened significantly.

“Because, y’know,” Poison says. He sighs, tangling his t-shirt around his fingers. “I dunno ‘f ‘s gonna be...different. Or something. Y’know? Phoenix Witch, sorry, ‘m not really making a lot ‘f sense.”

Ghoul flips over, smiling softly, though his eyes are sparkling and Poison braces for teasing. “Y’wanna know ‘f th’ wolf ‘s gonna know.”

Poison cringes. “Um. Yeah.”

Ghoul laughs, worming into Poison’s lap and pressing a kiss to his fingertips. “Yeah. Think ‘m gonna be able t’ recognize my mate.” He sits up to blow a raspberry against the side of Poison’s neck, teasing. “You’re gonna smell different,” he says, sounding mischievous and delighted, and mouths gently against the skin under his ear.

Poison’s having trouble focusing enough on anything other than Ghoul’s lips on his throat to respond, but then his brain replays what Ghoul just said and something lights up, bright and burning, inside his chest. “Mate?” he squeaks, and then wants to slap himself.

Ghoul grins against his jaw. “Y’ didn’t know?” He kisses the spot his teeth were on just a second later, arms sliding to loop around Poison’s waist. “Dunno ‘f you’ve been listenin’ to th’ static, lately, but ‘m kinda serious about you, Pois.”

Poison can’t help but laugh, a little hysterical. “God, yeah. Me too, baby.”

Ghoul leans up to kiss him, lips warm and soft, until he pulls back and shudders like he just felt a draft. “‘S gonna be soon.” He starts yanking his shirt over his head, muttering something about _actually liking this one, and he’ll be damned if he shreds it, Phoenix fuckin’ Witch_. His grin looks a little painful, teeth a little sharper than they were a second ago when he looks up. He kisses Poison again, quickly. “I love you. See you on th’ other side.”

When the shifting and crackling has stopped, and the wolf’s head pops up over the side of the mattress, Poison holds his breath, unnecessarily. It’s not until Ghoul tilts his muzzle up, sniffs the air, and then yelps happily, scrambling to get up on the bed and then starts leaving wet, slobbery animal kisses all over Poison’s face that he lets it go, laughing and flinging his arms around Ghoul’s neck.

“Baby,” he says, and Ghoul perks up, tail wagging wildly, making excited little yipping noises. “I love you, too,” Poison mumbles, around where Ghoul keeps licking his face, and neck, and mouth. He catches Ghoul’s head in his hands, smiling too much to do anything more than press light kisses all over the top of his head and ears.  _Mate_ _,_ he thinks, and, as if Ghoul can read his mind, he wriggles and kisses Poison’s face again.

“Okay, sugar, alright,” Poison manages, around his laughter. “No rush.” He buries his face in Ghoul’s dark fur. “We got all night.”


End file.
